


For the Brotherhood's Sake

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Series: A Sparrow in the Wasteland [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, F/M, First Kiss, Forbidden Love, Grief/Mourning, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Maxson has come to a decision... and neither Sparrow nor Danse like it or can do much about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Brotherhood's Sake

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, implied misogyny, mentions of drug addiction and grief/mourning. I’m also treating raiders like human beings instead of aggro NPCs who will retreat when they know they’re beaten. And this meme has snuck itself into the storyline: http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=16773319

 

“The Capital Wasteland has its share of raiders but the Commonwealth has more of them than radroaches,” Danse noted dryly as Preston sniped the last raider on the roof of the Corvega factory.

            “I suspect that a lot of the folk who stumble into raiding would be the same to stumble into the Brotherhood where you’re from,” the Minuteman observed as he lowered his musket. “Once we could have recruited the restless ones into the Minutemen, but now they become raiders or Gunners.”

            “Which is to say ‘undisciplined and ruthless’ or ‘disciplined and ruthless’,” Danse pointed out sourly.

            “Exactly,” Preston agreed. “I’m grateful for this, I really am.”

            Danse looked down over the edge of the roof and saw Sparrow gesticulating forcefully to Cait, who was carrying a Fat Man. “Whatever it is, NO!” he yelled down at the brawler.

            “You like to ruin my fun, you do!” retorted the woman, putting the Fat Man down.

            Danse, now properly armoured in the T-60 suit picked up in Concord and repaired by that genius Sturges (the man should be a Scribe), stepped off the roof and landed right in front of the two women and Codsworth. “There’s a lot of pre-War tech that can be salvaged in there, soldier,” he told Cait brusquely. “If you don’t like it, leave.”

            “If I didn’t like the fragrance of grease, sweat and power armour,” Cait grumbled. “I thought this was Preston’s show.”

            “Danse is the better tactician,” the Minuteman admitted. He was a truly humble man and Danse had gotten to like him despite their disagreements over the Brotherhood’s presence in the Commonwealth.

            “Thank you.” Danse nodded to Preston before looking at Cait. “Remember, there’ll be plenty of carnage for you inside.”

            “Good.” Cait swung her arms loosely. “Let’s go.”

            Danse took point and Preston rear as they entered the main part of the factory. It was fighting in closed conditions until they reached the main assembly area, Sparrow quickly hacking the Protectron terminal to add some extra firepower to their squad.

            The Paladin had to admit that Codsworth and Cait could hold their own in battle, surpassing Sparrow’s contributions – but she was essentially a civilian forced to fight, not a soldier. He reminded himself to give her some sniper training later to increase her effectiveness in combat.

            The raiders had numbers but not training on their side. Once their leader Jared was dead, the remaining few fled for the hills to make trouble for another day. Danse went over to the ham radio that still functioned and switched it to the Brotherhood’s frequency to give them a report.

            “This is Paladin Danse. We’ve just secured a pre-War manufactory called Corvega just outside Lexington as per an agreement with the remaining Minutemen. I repeat, this is Paladin-“

            “Roger that, Danse.” Elder Maxson himself replied. “Weren’t you supposed to report in after Goodneighbour?”

            “I decided that backtracking to Sanctuary Hills via Concord to find some more clues about Field Scribe Finlay’s missing son – and to see if any Minutemen remained – was a sound tactical decision,” Danse promptly explained. “I admit, giving the Scribe some closure – and avenging the Knights I lost to the Corvega scum – was part of my reasoning.”

            Maxson sighed. “I hope what we salvage from Corvega is worth the detour, Paladin.”

            Danse looked around at the mostly intact factory. “We have a fairly intact production line and resources, Elder Maxson, and that’s just what I can see in front of me.”

            “Hmmph.” Maxson made a thoughtful sound. “Is the Scribe with you?”

            “I am, Elder,” Sparrow said from behind Danse.

            “Care to explain your actions in Goodneighbour?”

            Sparrow clenched her fists. “In the course of our investigation into Kellogg’s involvement with the Institute, Elder Maxson, I was forced to relive my husband’s murder through the eyes of his killer. I… did not react well.”

            “Obviously.” Maxson’s voice was dry as the Mojave of legend. “I want you to return to the Prydwen for a complete assessment by Knight Captain Cade. I know the fight is personal for you, Scribe, but if you can’t handle it than I’m going to assign Haylen to it and put you on ship duty.”

            “Elder,” Danse spoke before Sparrow could. “The Institute is definitely laying some kind of trail for the Scribe. If we pull her off ground duty, that trail will go cold.”

            “Perhaps. I’ll make a final decision when you return to the Prydwen. Scribe Finlay is a unique resource, not to be wasted.”

            “Of course, Elder,” Danse acquiesced as Sparrow’s lips pursed.

            “Now what’s this about the Minutemen? I thought they were all dead.”

            “Not quite. Preston Garvey of the Commonwealth Minutemen.” The handsome dark-skinned man spoke up. “In return for setting up some trade routes between my people and yours, the Paladin agreed to lend a hand now and then as his duties allowed it.”

            “We have the area from Nordhagen to Cambridge Police Station secure,” Danse said quickly. Maxson accepted almost any decision if you could justify it. “But we don’t have the resources to hold and protect the entire Commonwealth. And once the Minutemen are back on their feet, Colonel Garvey tells me that there’s a few tricks up their sleeve at their old base that he’s happy to use against the Institute.”

            “Danse and Sparrow made it clear that your territory is your territory, Elder Maxson,” Preston added. “In the Commonwealth, you can never have too many friends, and neighbours should lend a hand to each other.”

            Maxson made another thoughtful noise. “The Commonwealth needs our permanent presence here,” the Elder observed. “But Danse is correct: we’ve dedicated as much as we can spare to this mission and anything that spares our resources – as long as it doesn’t compromise our mission – is helpful.”

            “I made it clear that military technology is a no-go but we can help set up basic defences and give medical treatment,” Sparrow said quietly.

            “Basic medical treatment unless they supply the meds and chems,” Maxson insisted. “I know you mean well, Scribe, but we can’t spare medicine unless it directly advances the mission.”

            “Yes, Elder,” Sparrow said, tone utterly flat. Danse noted that Preston didn’t look too happy and even Cait was unimpressed.

            “Good. I want you two here by the day after tomorrow.”

            “Can I bring my Mr Handy Codsworth aboard?” Sparrow asked quietly. “He’s trained in all aspects of the household from cooking to handling children to growing crops and I know how to keep up his maintenance.”

            “Don’t push it, Scribe,” Maxson warned acerbically. “You’re on thin ice with your actions in Goodneighbour and only the fact that you were under extreme emotional pressure has kept you out of the brig.”

            Sparrow turned towards the robot, whose three eyes were already drooping. “Head back to Sanctuary, please,” she told him. “They’ll need you there.”

            “Yes, mum,” he said reluctantly and Danse found himself feeling for the construct. Codsworth had as much personality as Nick Valentine despite both of them being artificial creations.

            “Any other orders, Elder?” Danse asked, taking up the thread of the conversation.

            “No, Paladin. Don’t be late – I want to be updated on the Institute situation. Maxson out.” And the radio went dead.

            “Arsehole,” Cait said flatly.

            Danse stepped out of the power armour he’d worn. “Can you take this back for me?” he requested of Preston, who had a frown on his face.

            “Sure,” the Minuteman agreed. “Paladin, you’re always welcome to join the Minutemen. I’m a competent commander in a firefight but you… someone like you could rebuild us, make us better than what we were before.”

            “My life is the Brotherhood,” Danse answered. “They saved me from life in Rivet City and made me the soldier I am today.”

            “Damn,” Preston said regretfully. “Offer’s always open for you and Sparrow. You’re good people, even if your Elder leaves much to be desired.”

            “Elder Maxson has been fighting since the age of twelve,” Danse explained, feeling the need to justify his friend’s brusque attitude. “He’s been an Elder since sixteen.”

            “Give a man a hammer young enough, he’ll see every problem as a nail,” the Minuteman observed sadly. “You know, this means we’ll just be trading food and basic supplies with you – no weapons, no medications, no scrap.”

            “I understand, though I certainly hope you’ll tend anyone who gets hurt fighting for you,” Danse said.

            “Only if I’m sure the Brotherhood squad would do the same for my people,” Preston answered as he turned away. “I’ll go let Tenpines Bluff know the raiders are handled. Thanks for your help, Danse, Sparrow.”

            “You’re welcome.” Danse watched the Minuteman leave and sighed. The Brotherhood needed good men like that but Elder Maxson had a point about resources.

            “I’ll escort Codsworth home,” Cait offered, cheerful after some mayhem. “Be a shame if some raiders tried to use him for target practice.”

            “I would welcome the company, Miss Cait,” the robot replied. “Do you know when you’ll return, Miss Sparrow?”

            “I don’t,” she said sadly.

            “Take care of yourself and send frequent word to Sanctuary, if you could,” he requested of Sparrow.

            “I’ll try,” she promised.

            “Thank you, mum.” Codsworth looked at Danse. “Please take care of her, Master Danse.”

            “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

            When they left, he turned to Sparrow. “We might as well head back to the Prydwen,” he said.

            She nodded, looking unhappy. “Guess I’d better face the music and hope they’ll let me go looking for Virgil.”

            “Indeed.” Danse headed for the doors. “Let’s go.”

…

Maxson was standing before the windows on the command deck as always when the two of them entered the room. Sparrow resisted the urge to reach for Danse’s hand as the Elder turned around, expression grim.

            “Report,” was all he said and so they did.

            When it was done, the Elder looked between them. “The goods at the Corvega factory were worth the detour, Paladin. I trust that the Scribe has put her past to rest and is ready to face the future?”

            “I’m right here, Elder,” Sparrow said on the curt side of polite.

            “I noticed, Scribe, but I’m not sure I can trust your emotional stability at the moment after everything you’ve been through,” Maxson answered, still looking at Danse. “That’s why I’m asking your sponsor.”

            “I believe so,” Danse, always full of faith in her, answered.

            “Good. I’ll take it into account when I make my final decision.” Maxson crossed his arms. “Danse, you’re going after this Virgil. Bring him back if possible – anyone who leaves the Institute is a resource. If not, bring what information you can.”

            “Of course, Elder,” Danse said automatically.

            “Scribe, we have a situation that needs looking into involving logistics. Hangman’s Alley sent their first tithe and Nordhagen Beach wisely agreed to our terms,” the Elder said. “However, supplies are going missing at the Airport. While Danse looks for Virgil, you’ll be looking into that.”

            “Yes, Elder,” the Vault Dweller said flatly. How dare he think that she was incapable of going in search of Virgil?  
            “I’ll be frank,” the Elder continued. “You are one of the very few examples of non-irradiated humanity around. Cade also noted you’re O-. That makes you a universal donor. I can’t risk you turning into a ghoul while traipsing in the Glowing Sea because you can’t move around in power armour.”

            Danse winced. “I hate to say this, Scribe, but he has a point. You, in yourself, are a resource.”

            “I hope I’ll be saved for emergency blood transfusions,” Sparrow said bitterly. “I’d make for a poor blood bag on a regular basis.”

            “Once a month should be enough for blood donations,” Maxson said, waving his hand. “Once Danse is back, we can decide what happens then. The Institute is still our priority.”

            “Yes, Elder,” Sparrow said mechanically.

            “Then you’re dismissed, Scribe. Clean yourself up and report to Knight-Captain Cade for the health assessment.”

            She nodded tightly and stalked away, not particularly happy with the Elder at the moment but unable to argue.

…

Arthur watched the Scribe stalk out, back stiff with outrage, and reminded himself that she was fundamentally a civilian forced into a military role. It was why she’d been assigned to the Scribes in the first place, though he’d trusted Danse’s judgment in keeping her alive while they tracked her son’s kidnappers. The new scar on her face – bullet graze across the left cheek that was still pink against the paler patch just below the eye – showed just flawed that judgment might be. Sparrow Finlay was a precious resource in this irradiated world and he couldn’t let the Paladin jeopardise that.

            When he turned around to face Danse, the grim glint in the man’s brown eyes said it all. The Paladin was more than fond of her – was perhaps in love with her even – and that could very well compromise their mission in the Commonwealth. Maxson had plans to settle in the area once the Institute was destroyed, develop a new Enclave of the Brotherhood to match Lost Hills and the Citadel, and provide the ruins of Boston with the guidance they so obviously needed.

            “What is between you?” he asked bluntly.

            “She is my friend and subordinate,” Danse replied – evasively, for him.

            “Let me rephrase that question, Paladin – what are your feelings for her?”

            The man’s jaw set stubbornly and Maxson sighed, knowing he had his answer. As Elder, he had final say on all unions between Brotherhood members, and he would have to use it now.

            “It’s not going to happen, Paladin. The Elders at Lost Hills are already after me to choose a wife but I would like to bring in some fresh blood, as it were. Sparrow Finlay is intelligent, capable and diplomatic, all fine qualities for an Elder’s wife to have.” Maxson clasped his hands behind his back and eyed Danse, whose expression was subtly but surely darkening.

            “I’ve said nothing because she’s mourning her lost husband,” the Paladin said through gritted teeth.

            “And I recognise that. I’m giving her some downtime to grieve and become properly familiar with the Brotherhood,” Arthur assured him. “Paladin, there are a dozen women worthy of – and wanting – your attentions. I’m sorry, but Scribe Finlay cannot be one of them.”

            “Will she get a say in this or have you decided for her?” Danse asked flatly.

            “I’m hoping she’ll have the wisdom to understand why this is necessary.” Arthur sighed inwardly. He didn’t want to do this to one of his oldest friends but better now than later, when Sparrow might have developed feelings for him.

            “Very well,” Danse said tightly. “May I go?”

            “Yes,” Maxson said. He let the lack of honorific go this time.

            The Paladin walked out and Maxson shook his head. Why was it that no one had problems with hard decisions until they were affected by them?

            He sighed aloud this time and walked over to the whiskey. Hopefully she would pass Cade’s tests and be ready to move on. The Brotherhood’s future in the Commonwealth depended on it. And… it would be good to have something for himself that _he_ chose, not the Lost Hills Elders.

…

Initiate Clarke looked ready to piss himself in fear as he was frogmarched by an irate Sparrow to Lancer-Captain Kells. Given the Brotherhood’s stance on ghouls, the young man had every right to be, but she had little sympathy for him. Pissing away supplies feeding feral ghouls? She only didn’t shoot him because Kells deserved the pleasure.

            Once the renegade was in Kells’ hands and a new torso for Danse’s power armour handed over, Sparrow went to track the Paladin down. He’d been avoiding her since their return to the Prydwen these past three days and she wanted to know why. Especially since Maxson and Knight-Captain Cade were acting a bit strange around her.

            She cornered him in the private quarters given to Senior Paladins. In light of his service and recent trauma, Brandis had the other room now another Paladin – Ronan – was assigned to Cambridge. The old man was probably in the mess hall talking with some of the other veterans while he recovered.

            “Got something for you,” Sparrow announced, startling the Paladin, who was shirtless and trimming his close-cropped hair before the mirror.

            “Sparrow! I mean, Scribe, what are you doing here?” Danse looked around nervously – nervously, Danse! – as he turned around to reveal a scarred, muscular chest that Sparrow found herself admiring.

            “Presenting you with a nice new torso for your power armour,” she said, holding out the heavy metal breastplate. “Kells gave it to me for finding out who was stealing those supplies at the Airport.”

            “I… Thank you,” Danse said, looking down as he took it. “You shouldn’t come here again.”

            “Why the hell not?” Sparrow demanded.

            “Because Elder Maxson has deemed our relationship unnecessarily close for commanding officer and subordinate,” the Paladin said unhappily. “We’re being reassigned to other squads.”

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sparrow found herself saying in disgust. “If this is because I got drunk in Goodneighbour and you’re in trouble for it, I’ll go up there and take the blame I deserve.”

            She still didn’t know Cade’s findings but having to speak to Doctor Quinlan once a week – and donate blood every month – was going to be onerous. She felt like a walking blood bag, perhaps with a uterus attached after the Knight-Captain’s personal questions about her fertility.

            “It isn’t that.” Danse closed his eyes, as if in pain. “We’re too close, Sparrow, and… No. Just please leave. Once I have information from Virgil, I’ll return and present it to you and the Elder.”

            His behaviour – and that of Maxson and Cade – fell into place. And Sparrow was _pissed._

“It will be a cold day in hell before I become a broodmare for Arthur fucking Maxson,” she hissed. “I can take a lot of shit but not that.”

            Danse opened his eyes, turning a pained, pleading gaze on her. “I don’t like it either,” he admitted miserably. “But Elder Maxson can give you something resembling the life you had before the bombs fell. And it is a great honour to be an Elder’s spouse – his intentions are honourable, I swear.”

            Sparrow screwed her eyes shut as they burned with tears. She was certain Danse cared for her deeply – but his honour and love of the Brotherhood was killing him. “I guess leaving and joining the Minutemen isn’t an option?” she asked helplessly.

            “For neither of us,” Danse confirmed, his voice hopeless. “Sparrow, the Brotherhood and its mission comes first. For me. For Elder Maxson. We ask nothing of others what we wouldn’t ask of ourselves.”

            “So you’d rip your heart out for the Brotherhood?”

            “Yes. Not gladly… but yes.” Danse was resigned. “Arranged unions, especially between those of the Lost Hills and Citadel families, are common in the Brotherhood. It’s a huge honour to be considered worthy of that upper echelon, Sparrow, and it isn’t just because you’re the healthiest woman on this ship. Your own talents played a huge part in the Elder’s decision.”

            “How long before he was going to tell me of this, ah, honour?” she asked bitterly.

            “He wanted to give you some more time to grieve for Nate and become more familiar with the Brotherhood,” the Paladin said unhappily.

            “How fucking nice of him.” Something twisted in her when she opened her eyes – the pain on Danse’s face. That selfless sonuva would sacrifice himself for the Brotherhood and the Elders would honour him with some fancy plaque or bulletin or something else equally useless.

            She stepped in close and rose on her toes to kiss Danse.

            The Paladin’s huge arms wrapped around her, lifting her effortlessly to press her against the steel wall of his bedroom, hands sliding under her legs to anchor her. Stubble rasped against her skin as lips, firm yet gentle, parted to meet hers. Sparrow drank in the ardent kiss as a thirsty Wastelander did gallons of purified water, tongue twining with Danse’s until they were both breathless.

            His lips were halfway down her neck, licking and sucking with the occasional graze of teeth, before he stopped with a harshly ragged inhalation. “I can’t. Sparrow, for the Brotherhood’s sake… I can’t. Though I wish to God I could.”

            Danse gently set her down, regret and… yes, love twisting his face. “Go, please,” he begged.

            She looked at him, tears in her eyes, and fled. Love, like everything else, meant nothing in the Wasteland because no such feeling could survive in the ruins of the world.


End file.
